


Confession

by spinningelectro



Category: Winner (Band)
Genre: Artist!Seunghoon, Coffeeshop AU, Fluff, M/M, Shop owner/Jinwoo, Sweet/Cute stories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-03-06 10:25:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13409277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spinningelectro/pseuds/spinningelectro
Summary: Well, every fandom needs a coffeeshop AU, and I just love the idea of Hoon being an artist.





	Confession

It was like fresh snow, soft and pure, untouched and pretty, this feelings…

 

 

***

 

 

Around this time of day, a couple of minutes before nine, a man would push through that door. The bell rang above him, and the staffs would bow and greet him a simple, polite “welcome”. Ah today he wore a loose jacket outside a designed black shirt, and those grey ripped jeans did a fairly good job flaunting those long legs. When approached the counter, the man would look up a bit, his black onyx eyes gazed at the menu above, then landed on him, standing by.

And Jinwoo would give him a smile.

“Can I help you with your order, sir?”

He saw the young man quirked an eyebrow at him, and then smiled in return.

“Flat white, please.”

He would leave for the seat by the window, where the lights were just perfect on those shoulder, drooping from his fine jawline, shading his high cheekbones and highlighting every finest detail on that handsome face. Jinwoo would sometimes watch him, in those seconds when the coffee machine did its work. He wasn’t sure about what customer did for a living, he could only guess that he worked nearby, after all this place was right behind the office block.

The young man didn’t look like an office worker anyhow, he could judge from his clothing. Right about now, when the waiter came and placed the cup of coffee down in front of him, he would thank the staff and smiled at the coffee. There would be a small notebook on the table, and an equally small book. The way the left cover was all wrinkled and on the golden cover stained a coffee ring was enough to show how old it was. He would raise the cup to his lips only to breathe in its aroma, and _ah_ , that content smile; this was Jinwoo’s favourite moment. The young man loved his coffee, that smile told him.

The guests came and went. But this one often stayed for at least three hours, enjoyed his coffee while it was still hot and then scribbled down something in his notebook. He looked so focused and fascinated in his own way, that fluffy light brown bun looked so warm in the lights. And those eyes, somehow seemed warmer, clearer, so _beautiful…_ Jinwoo found himself spacing out more than once.

“How much?”

Around noon, the young man would come to the counter to check. His bills often included a coffee and a pastry, no more than 4000 won. And Jinwoo would give him a casual smile, leaning forward a bit and raised his brows. Oh it wasn’t a sin trying to be charming.

“Thank you.” He said, giving his best smile. Wide, warm, and fond, and gosh he swore he didn’t try to win the other’s attention, but he did.

“Your coffee is the best. I’ll come again.”

The young man said, pushing a hefty tip into the tip jar and then he turned on his heels. The bell at the door rang again as he pushed through and left.

 

 

***

 

 

Today it rained. It rained cats and dogs out there, and the wind was slapping against the window, drops by drops running down the glass and pooled on the sill. The sky darkened and the wind was howling through the edges of the door. It was getting cold, the late fall was slowing fading and the coldness at nightfall was signaling a snowy winter. Jinwoo decided to manage everything by himself and let the staff off early; well, there wasn’t many customers left. Everyone was rushing home.

Well, except one.

Was a bit over six when Jinwoo turned his attention towards the table by the window. The young man was still there, hair dropping carelessly on the back of his neck and his glasses on rested on the bridge of his nose. Oh he wore glasses today, Jinwoo wondered if it was just for show or if he actually had ill eyesight; but damn did he look good. He was still busy with his notebook, heaven knew what he was scribbling down in there. Jinwoo didn’t know, he wanted to find out yet was afraid that he might be too nosy.

The guests were leaving, lovers hand in hand back under the same crystal clear umbrella. There was an old man with slouched back and a worn-out grey jacket coming in just now, only to give him a smile and then waved another old woman in the table in the corner. Some young ones didn’t mind a bit of a rain, _youth_ , and they ran home with their book case above their heads.

The young man by the window stayed. With his hair all messy and tangled on his shoulders, his long slender fingers curved around the pencil, he seemed so focused, so in his own zone, comfortable and fascinated. What could be so fascinating, Jinwoo presumed? Maybe it was the book that he always carried with him, was it a story, a novel? He glanced at the cover a few times, but there was no name, so instead Jinwoo stared at the coffee-stained ring. Maybe because the book belonged to this artsy-looking oddly-handsome man that the café owner found the stain so artistic…

“Oh I’m sorry, is it close to closing time? Am I keeping you?”

Jinwoo was startled; the other turned back and caught his eyes before he had realized it, already dropped his pen and his eyes flashed a bit of concerns. And before Jinwoo could answer, he stood up on his heels and started to recollect his things, put both of his notes and his book into the leather satchel. Oh, that thin satchel couldn’t be able to carry an umbrella, could it?

“No, not at all.” He rushed over, smiled a reassuring smile, “You’re not keeping me, so no need to hurry. You don’t have an umbrella?”

He tilted his head, and the man widened his eyes back at him. He started with an embarrassed “umh..” and then raised his hand to scratch the hair on the back of his neck. It made Jinwoo giggle, how cute the man was. “Wait here, okay?” He offered and ran back into the staff office beside the pantry, didn’t wait for an answer, leaving the man standing there, dumbfounded.

When Jinwoo was back, the other was standing out under the veranda. The money was under the toaster, much more than required to be. His back was glued to the grand glass window, and he was reaching his hand out to the rain. Cold drops dripped on his slender fingers and he stared at them through that partly fogged up glasses. That perplexed expression, so relaxed, clouded and unfocused eyes, slightly parted lips, it all got Jinwoo completely, and he couldn’t stop himself from reaching out to tap that shoulder.

Those onyx eyes tuned back and looked at him, warm and fond, and it took his breath away.

“Here,” he must look like a goof smiling like this, but what the hell. Extending his hands, he pressed a folded black umbrella into his hands, explaining, “So sorry, this is actually mostly used to shield the sun. See? This black covers were specially made by a special material, it can stop the UV ray from attacking your skin. Mmm what am I saying, it is actually raining…”

He was interrupted by the man’s laugh; light, bright, and fond, the way that he laughed and gosh, Jinwoo could feel heat creeping up to his cheek. No good, no good, he thought as he held down his head to hide his flushed red face, and he bit his lips, “Ahhh anyway, just use it okay? This idiot, you stay back because you don’t have an umbrella, do you? Take it, you can return to me next time.”

The other continued to chuckle, his smile was so dazzling, “Not just because of that why I stayed… And ‘ _idiot_ ’ haha, that’s the first time someone called me that so straightforward. I have a name you know?”

Ah, not until then did he realize he had never known the other’s name. “The man by the window”, “the shop’s regular”, that was how he usually called him. This huge crush he had on him, this smitten he was with him, yet may be because that was the case that he never thought that he should know his name. This felt like a childish love, an instant crush that would have no results, so what was the use in knowing his name? It would have led to nowhere anyway, that was what he thought.

“My name is Seunghoon. Lee Seunghoon.” He said smiling, taking the umbrella and extended his other hand. Jinwoo must have repeated that name a hundred times.

“Nice knowing you Seunghoon, I’m Kim Jinwoo.”

He shook the hand, feeling it slightly wet and cold in his palm drenched with raindrops. Oh how instinctively have an urge to warm that hand with his own body heat; ah that came out wrong.

“Thank you Jinwoo, you have your umbrella home right?” to which he received a nod, and Seunghoon chuckled again, “Right, this umbrella is to protect your skin under the sun, you must have another for when it rains. Right haha, no wonder your skin looks so good…”

Time froze at that instant, even for Seunghoon, he could feel that through the way his hand turned stiff in his own. What? What did he just say? Did he say what Jinwoo thought he did? Why the hell did it sound so damn wrong? What was that, was he fooling himself, how should he put it, how should he make sense of that? Was it just an expression, a compliment, or… _a flirt?_

And while Jinwoo was confused, spaced out and lost in thoughts, Seunghoon might have fled in his own embarrassment.

 

 

***

 

 

Ever since, Seunghoon seemed to stay in a bit longer. If he came early in the morning, he would stay till lunch, and if in the afternoon, he would probably stay till closing time. Ever since, Jinwoo felt that, he wasn’t the only one looking his way.

He surely wished that he was imagining it, but he met that gaze once. It was true, Lee Seunghoon was also looking at him.

When the café was less crowded, they got more time to talk. Times like these, Jinwoo wasn’t one to waste, he would delay the closing, sit down at the other’s table, ask him casually about anything, share with him every highlights of his day, giggle at everything the other would say, and feel himself having a bigger and bigger crush on Seunghoon each and everyday. The man was charming, humourous, ridiculously attractive in his own way and Jinwoo wasn’t about to fight this emotions building up in his chest. It felt like butterflies in his stomach every single damn time Seunghoon smiled at him, sipped his coffee and praised Jinwoo as if he made the best coffee in this world.

There was one afternoon, the waitress had to stop Seunghoon at the door. Because he brought his dog. Yes, as if he wasn’t perfect enough, he had a pet Italian grey hound in advance.

“Haute-ya, say hi.”

Mentally, Jinwoo was screaming at himself. Look at that pointy little face, pointy little ears, big round dark eyes and smooth grey short hair. Look at that, how could a puppy look so adorable in that shark hoodie? Was there ever a shark hoodie for dogs, how could such a cute thing ever exist? Jinwoo’s heart gave up at the puppy’s first “arf” (self-translated to “please”).

Regardless of the house rules: “No pets allowed”, he set Seunghoon a table out in the veranda and took his order as usual. The little puppy was a sweetheart, adorably attached to his owner and incredibly sociable. He came at Jinwoo every time he came out to his table, running circle around his feet and waved his tail hysterically.

“He likes you.”

Seunghoon commented, smiling at him as he bent down to pet Haute, and that smile, in Jinwoo’s mind, was too dazzling to look straight.

 

 

***

 

 

Seunghoon was an artist, a painter, to be exact. Besides that, he also danced. Oh Jinwoo bet that he would dance beautifully, like his paintings. He showed him once through his phones, an oil paintings featuring a dancing lady, dancing glamourously by the lamp poll and within its dim light. There were many other landscapes, both colored in oil and water colors, but Jinwoo’s favourite was the one featuring a white whale, jumping over the waves; an on-the-spot sketch, then later on water-coloured. From his point of view, he could feel all this amazement, enjoyment, and sympathy and happiness, and Jinwoo was deeply touched. “It was a baby whale,” Seunghoon said, “it was his first attempt to jump,” or so he could remember. Jinwoo nearly saw himself in that plain sketch.

“Show me sometimes, your paintings.”

“Mm-hmm.”

His eyes met the notebook lied at Seunghoon’s side of the table when he looked down. Now that he thought about it, the artist always carried this little thing around with him, scribbling something every time he saw him. So it wasn’t words what he wrote, but paintings, sketches maybe? Perhaps, Jinwoo told himself, and tried to look away, but he couldn’t help but be curious of what the artist could possibly have captured. He had seen Seunghoon’s sketches, and it made him wonder, because everything seemed different through Seunghoon’s eyes, a small street corner in Itaewon that he had been at several times, or that central park he had always walked through to get home, the lamplight, the trees, the moon partly covered in a cloudy windy night; they were all different now, he thought he saw something he had never seen before there, and then at the same time wasn’t exactly sure what. Maybe he could have seen party from a different perspective called Lee Seunghoon’s, and it brought another vibe, oddly artistic, oddly inspiring.

“Aren’t you closing soon, it’s really dark out.”

Jinwoo was startled back to life, the sky outside already darkened, lamplights lighting up the streets. There was only a single light bulb above their heads, giving enough brightness for their table only, and Seunghoon’s smirk was oddly warm, oddly gentle, and Jinwoo was quite sure his face was reddening, “Yeah, I’m afraid.”

“Hey, how about I treat you to dinner then?”

It would have ended like a normal evening if Seunghoon hadn’t stopped him when he was about to stand up, and Jinwoo widened his eyes. “I know a good restaurant with good spicy pork ribs. It’s getting cold, you’re up for something hot and spicy?”

A dinner invitation, was that too bold, was that just casual? They had been talking long enough to be considered friends, it shouldn’t be strange to have dinner together, should it? “I-I guess, yeah?”

“Yeah? Great!” The brunette exclaimed with delights, must be the first time Jinwoo saw those mono-lid eyes so wide opened, “I’m gonna head to the restroom for a bit, make a phonecall to ensure our reservation, then help you close and get going, okay?”

Jinwoo smiled, nodding agreement to the artist, watching him stand up and draw out his phone as he made for the back. The table was left with Jinwoo alone, and Seunghoon’s satchel and Seunghoon’s notebook. The light bulb blinked above his head, the artist would be gone for a few minutes, no? _Just a glimpse,_ Jinwoo told himself, and he opened it.

He was right, it wasn’t a notebook, it was a sketchbook.

He was wrong, it wasn’t mostly landscapes, it was mostly portraits. Some were only in black and white, some were water-colored. And he recognized the subject in his sketches immediately. Short reddish brown hair, wide round eyes under those long lashes, pale skin, plum lips. Fingers gently curved around a pen as thee took order, expressions so focused and careful as thee poured the milk foam over the latte. Standing on tiptoes to reach for the cupboard high up, turning sharply as heard the bell rang every time a customer came in. Those keen eyes, that smile, he knew them all too clearly…

It was him. Every page of the sketchbook, it was him. Seunghoon, drew him.

 

 

***

 

 

Seunghoon returned hopping over, excited as ever, “Ready to go?”

And as much as he hated to do this, but Jinwoo still turned to give him a mere smile, regretful and awkward, “I’m sorry, I forgot I already had plans for tonight. I’m sorry…”

He could see how the excitement slowly died away in Seunghoon’s eyes, and the way his shoulders slouched revealed something more than just disappointment. “Is that so? Then, another time?”

And he forced himself to nod, only just slightly, “Perhaps.”

When Seunghoon left that day, Jinwoo felt as if the artist wanted to tell him something, but they were both left with silence. 

 

 

***

 

He could not explain if it was because he was embarrassed, or he was unsure. It was too unbelievable to be true, but there was no denying that was him in those pictures. Seunghoon drew him every time he’d been here, no, it was like he was here to draw him. Was it just spontaneously, was it all art purpose? Gosh Jinwoo didn’t want to make a fool out of himself, never, but was it a sin to think maybe their feelings about each other were mutual, maybe his crush also liked him back?

“Jinwoo? Is something wrong?”

Dumbfounded, he looked up, hand still holding Seunghoon’s card. The artist was frowning at him, Haute by his feet rubbing his small black nose against Jinwoo’s pants. Ah right, he was paying for his drinks, and Jinwoo was too lost in the process. He shook his head, forced a smile and apologized, yet it didn’t cast that worrying frown away.

Jinwoo still couldn’t talk to Seunghoon normally, and thanks to that their relationship seemed to be falling apart. He kept himself busy so that he wouldn’t be thinking about Seunghoon anymore, be looking at him anymore. And when there was less crowded, he gave everything to the staffs and withdrew into his office to calculate the sales. Thinking about the artist made his heart race in his chest with high hopes and illusional dreams, and it scared him, how deep he was involved in this. They were both male for starter, two youngsters with unsecured future, this feeling was too fragile, too easy to be shattered, and Jinwoo’s heart wouldn’t be able to take that pain.

 _Get your head out of the cloud, Jinwoo,_ he told himself. What was the use growing an useless and unreal emotion knowing that the pain would eventually come and crush you?

Gradually, Seunghoon stopped coming.

Everday, Jinwoo would wait for that bell to ring and a tall figure to walk in. To see the man with light brown hair bun, to see his glasses rest on that high nose-bridge. To see that leather satchel, that notes, that coffee-stained ring. To serve him another flat white or cappucchino, a slice of strawberry short cake. To hear his voice, to see his smile, to pet his Haute.

What an irony it was that he avoided Seunghoon when he was here, yet missed him dearly when he was not.

The café once was a bright, comfy and cozy little space, partly thanks to the cute owner’s joyous demeanor. Seoul was turning winter, snow scarcely began to pour over the front porch. It was piling on the table Seunghoon usually sat when he brought Haute, Jinwoo thought. It was getting colder around in the town, and it was getting cold in here too…

 

 

***

 

 

“Hey.”

Then one night, when he just closed the coffeehouse, locked up everything and tightened his scarf around his neck, he turned around to see that familiar shadow leaning against his frosted window. Breathing out white fog, hands thrust in his giant jacket’s pockets, hair hanging loose on his shoulders, scattered over his forehead and covered his eyes partly. Jinwoo was startled, and he gripped his scarf a bit tighter.

“Seunghoon?”

“Yeah,” he replied with a sighing smile, light reflected on white snow contouring his face. He wasn’t sure if that was because of the light, but Seunghoon’s face seemed to be smaller, paler, and his eye-bags were getting darker and darker under his eyes. He seemed tired, and definitely not eating enough. “So, um, long time not seeing you. How’re you doing?”

His voice sounded hoarse, and it was almost like his second nature, he couldn’t have stopped himself from asking, “Are you ill?”

The young artist was surprised, he could tell, by that hand awkwardly brought to scrath his neck, “No… I mean, yeah, I’m a bit tired. It’s just a cold.” _Oh…_ But that didn’t explain why he stopped going to his café for so long, did it? Must be a very bad cold, and it bothered Jinwoo if there was anyone there to take care of him. If there wasn’t, that would be a shame. If there was,… should he be glad?

“Jinwoo?”

“Yes?”

Perhaps a proper response was too mcuh to ask from him at this point. He was confused, and unsure and insecure, he had always been. He wanted to tell Seunghoon so much, confessed to him and demanded a proper answer, yet after all he was a coward in love.

”Here.”

Seunghoon took a step and extended his hand, offering Jinwoo a small envelope, “What is it?”

“A ticket. VIP. For my gallery exhibition. This Saturday. I’ve been working on this the whole time, that’s why, um… Sorry, that’s why I’ve been a bit busy to see you.”

As charming as he was, as smoothly as he could talk, and gosh did Seunghoon fumble with his words. He ended up taking Jinwoo’s gloved hand (Jinwoo be still) and shoved the envelope inside it. And he didn’t let go. Strange, Jinwoo didn’t have that small a frame, but when Seunghoon covered his hand between his own palms like this, and their heights differed so obviously at this close distance, he felt so, so small compared to him.

“Please come,… if you have time.” He said, insisted, begged, whichever sounded more desperately, “Please?”

Jinwoo didn’t remember his own response. Did he nod, did he shake his head? What did he say? What stupid expression did he make?

All he could remember was Seunghoon quickly walking away, either too joyful to hear a possible agreeing answer or too heartbroken by another possibility of declination. Or, his own racing heart forbid him to stay for Jinwoo’s response, and he fled before he could hear it, letting their fates decide.

 

 

***

 

 

It wasn’t such a crowd, it had always been, Seunghoon was used to it. After all, he wasn’t that famous an artist.

But it didn’t matter, because there was only one guest that he actually cared about his presence.

Over and over, people came and went, dropping mindless comments on his paintings, betting on them to get a simple ornament to hang up in their living room somewhere. Not that he cared, Seungyoon cared, urging him each and everyday for his art and working that slick tongue of his to boost the sales. And considered the widening smile on that puffy mochi face, Seunghoon could only have guessed the sales were not bad.

“Did he come?”

Seungyoon asked him between breaks. And he replied with a cold chug down that Ginger Ale.

Was a bit passed when the last observer left the door, and Seunghoon was close to give up his intention. Oh Jinwoo… Jinwoo didn’t come, the disappointment was imprinted too harshly on his expression that it darkened the whole aura in the room. Seungyoon was soon too recognize that; they had been friends long enough, and he was soon to flee.

“Ah… Oh, aren’t you…?”

First was the sound of Seungyoon’s opening the door, coming right after was a thudding sound of  bumping quite clearly. He could hear Seungyoon’s laugh, exchanging short greetings, then sounds of steps hurrying rapidly outside the door was mixed with sharp breaths gasping. Reddish brown hair soaked with sweat around the back of his neck showing out as the scarf was getting loose. Hands snowy white and red on the knuckles, and his face so pale yet his cheeks flushed with heat. Seunghoon looked up and looked out, and he felt something rising in his chest, building up and choking him, warm and delightful.

“Jinwoo?”

Those doe eyes finally looked up, blinked away the beads of sweats off his fringes. And then came that smile, that smile that had shook Seunghoon’s heart and soul since day one, that angelic, ethereal, one-of-the-kind smile bloomed on his beautiful face.

“Sorry, closing took too long. What, you don’t think I’d miss that VIP seat, do you?”

It was like fresh snow, soft and pure, untouched and pretty, this feeling… It hit him so strong, so hard and so genuine, since the first day walking into that café to see this bright smile and gentle voice greeting him. He didn’t think at all, his mind was screaming to be thinking clearly, urging him to draw out his paper and pen and to paint, to carve this beauty deeply into his mind, to express as much as possible through his sketches, his strokes. That peachy warmth dusting his cheeks and the rosiness of his lips, such round eyes, innocent and clear under those long lashes. Soon, he found his blank sheets no longer blank, his pencils almost moved on his own with Kim Jinwoo in his mind.

He came to the café everyday, and he drew Kim Jinwoo everyday. It was like an obsession, or an endless inspiration. He couldn’t help thinking about Jinwoo wherever and whenever, he couldn’t help wondering about Jinwoo at whatever time. He wanted to meet Jinwoo, he wanted to see Jinwoo off after he closed up, Jinwoo appeared firstly on his mind when he held his brush. And just so, the collection of Kim Jinwoo came to born.

“Come here.”

He lingered a moment before making his mind and offer Jinwoo his hand, and no matter how hard he tried Seunghoon could still feel his ears turning red. But that rouge tinting Jinwoo’s cheeks was endearingly sweet, and when their hands entwined, Seunghon felt like his heart could fly.

“I know I’ve said this a hundred time, but they’re really beautiful, your paintings.” Jinwoo smiled, looking around with wide eyes in awe, and the exclamation lifted his heart. “You’re really talented, Seunghoon-ah.”

Nothing, absolutely nothing can measure Seunghoon’s happiness right now. Jinwoo was with him, hand in hand, and he was calling him “Seunghoon-ah” so dearly, so sweetly in his own voice. He had been criticized by many critics before, even the most professional ones, varied in both compliments and harsh comments; yet never before had anyone’s comment affected him so much. “Wait till you see this final one. You’re the only one who can see, Jinwoo.”

He led Jinwoo into a small room in the back, a small space with a wide glass window. It was snowing outside, snow lining the iron sills and white frost fogging the glass. The inner furniture was decorated in warm colors, with wooden floor and warm golden lights. There was a painting placed in the center of the room, still rested against the wooden easel, hidden under a beige canvas, stained with different dry patches of acrylic colors. Must be a large painting, sized A1, and from Seunghoon’s promise of being the only one who could see it, Jinwoo was sure this must have been artist Lee’s most prideful masterpiece.

“Should I close my eyes?”

It made Seunghoon chuckle, and he nodded, letting go of Jinwoo’s hand to come to his own painting. Hands gripped on the canvas yet it felt like he was gripping on his own heart. His pulse was twitching under his skin, his chest hurt from the thumping, racing, uneven and intensive heartbeats. Watching Jinwoo with his eyes totally closed and lips quirking into a crooked smile, excitement mixed in with a part of anticipation, and gosh was Seunghoon scared. This was the moment of truth, this painting was his gift to Jinwoo, and it could only be up to him whether to accept it or not.

To accept him, or not.

“Jinwoo, open your eyes.”

He opened his eyes to the sound of fabric sliding off the easel, and Seunghoon felt himself shut his eyes at that. Told him he was a coward and everything, he just couldn’t bare to watch Jinwoo’s expression at the time. He wished there would be some sounds, to let him know what Jinwoo would feel needn’t him open his eyes, like a short squeal, an astounding gasp, a hiccup, something. Just something, _please don’t be silent._ Silence could mean anything, that he was thrilled, that he was disgusted, he was puzzled, he was confused. He agreed, he rejected, he was somewhere in the middle, he couldn’t make up his mind. And how could Seunghoon watch that, what nerves did he have to be able to withstand that?

“Seung…hoon…?”

It was a fresh one, the colors were still new, bright and wet in some patches. Warm colors in red base dusting the cheeks and shoulders, the color of rouge blooming on his lips. Long, slender, well-manicured fingers combed through strands of brown hair, slightly hazel, and another rest under his chin, palming around that beautiful snowy white delicate chin. It astounded Jinwoo how those eyes were so brown, yet so warm, and the white dot inside his pupils made those eyes seem so wide, so bright, innocent, crystal clear. It made him blushed, the white on the man’s neck, the linings of those clavicles and the way those shoulders were showing probably proved that the man was naked. He was thankful that the rest of the body was limited by the size of the painting, he was bashful how that face was so beautifully described, and he was aroused, at the thought of how the painter would have imagined his subject while drawing this.

Drawing him.

Yes, it was a portrait of him. On this big painting sized A1, painted a man so beautiful, so angel-like, such elegant movement, such ethereal expression. And it was him, once again, Seunghoon painted Jinwoo.

“I know, you must have seen all my sketches of you, and that must have been scary for you,” He began, eyes still shut and back facing his visitor, begging Jinwoo to say something, just something in response, “I understand why you changed your mind that night, why you stopped talking to me later on. I-I must have been… a bother.”

“Seunghoon…”

“But,” What a fool he was, if all he had begged for at first was a simple answer, yet now that when Jinwoo did say something, he cut him off, “I can’t help it, Jinwoo. You will… probably hate me, probably will disgust me, but I… I can’t help falling in love with you, Jinwoo.”

“I love you, why else do you think I come to your café everyday for the past few months? You’re so beautiful, so generous and kind that I can’t help being drawn to you. You’re my perfect model, at first that’s all I thought; but you were so much more. By the time I leant that, I was already so smitten with you.”

“You’re my muse, Jinwoo. I can’t stop thinking about you, dreaming you, painting you. I love you, I’m already, really, really, genuinely, hopelessly, in love with you. And if you wouldn’t accept that, that… to me,… that would be… f-ine…”

“Seunghoon!”

Jinwoo stopped him with that call and a tap on his shoulder, slowly turning him around. Blindly, he felt those fingers dancing on the fabric of his shirt, fingertips just brushing the tingling skin on his neck before making their way up caressing his jawline, so soft, so gentle. Oh God, he dared not to wind his arms around that small waist, so he kept his hands on either sides of his body, stiff and fidgeting. Eyes shut tight, and he surely hoped his senses didn’t deceive him now, but wasn’t that Jinwoo’s warm tingling breath he felt against the skin on his cheeks?

It felt as soft as flower petals, gentle as a wind, just a small, chaste peck against his lips. Yet the taste lingered with this rising heat on their faces and this soft smell of their colognes mixing. At this close distance, the room dulled away, and they knew nothing else but being in each other’s arms and this addicting sweetness. Wasn’t the first kiss to any of them, but surely it couldn’t get any better than this.

“Open your eyes, Seunghoon.”

And he did as told, smiled at the pink blush on Jinwoo’s cheeks and the reflecting of golden lights on Jinwoo’s hair. They were alone, under this dim light and in the warmth of each other, right just where they belonged.

“I heard your confession, Seunghoon.”

He leant his forehead against the others, and Seunghoon did the same. They both smiled, two hearts once racing, now slowing down to the same rhythm.

“Love you too.”

 

 

***


End file.
